


Ladders

by purple_bookcover



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Childhood Trauma, Felix Week (Fire Emblem), Glenn is alive...briefly, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: A story of Ashe and Felix as an angel/demon (respectively) interceding in each other's lives. Based off a bit of mythology about angels using ladders to reach us here on earth.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20
Collections: Felix Birthday Week 2020





	1. The Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix lives a thousands lives, each ending in a different tragedy. Until an angel visits him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Felix BDay Week day 5, prompt "tears | sword/shield | supernatural/fantasy AU." 
> 
> For this day, I was inspired by a bit of folklore about angels having to climb to earth via ladders. I don't know why I found that image so striking, but I really liked the idea of these supernatural beings using ladders to reach us. I gave the angels/demons they/them pronouns because gender seems even more silly applied to supernatural beings.
> 
> NOTE: This story was written and edited in tandem with its second chapter. Literally line by line, they were written together to be perfect mirrors. So this one may sound weird while it's standing on its own.
> 
> #
> 
> For this and the rest of Felix BDay Week, I am doing ASHELIX WEEK. I am posting 7 new fics. On Ashe Week (in March), I'll be posting Chapter 2 of ALL seven fics. So come back then for the conclusion to these stories.

Felix climbs the ladder stretching to the heavens. 

Each rung burns. Each rung bites into their hands. But the heat is retreating. Red lights the dark, a glow and a glare. They feel eyes, but keep climbing nonetheless. Their wings sag, black feathers spiraling down into the pit, more and more falling with each rung they ascend.

They reach a landing.

#

_In this life, they will be a fish. They will be eaten by a larger fish._

#

Felix continues climbing. The dark is thick, like choking smoke, the earth a distant, pale sickle. The heat sears their skin, but they are accustomed to it. It hurts no more than it ever has. The force trying to pull them downward plucks the feathers from their wings, leaving the appendages bald and leathery.

Felix climbs because they can, because they must, because the earth calls to them. They have heard it, echoing through the dark, clamoring for them to respond. But it is a long journey and hard. The dark nips at them, trying to drag them down. How easy it would be to simply give up. 

They reach a landing.

#

_In this life they will be a man. They will live rough and simple until someone strikes them with a rock._

#

A demon meets them on their climb, flying up to watch Felix struggle. The pulse of their great, black wings batters Felix.

“What are you doing?” the devil says.

“Climbing,” Felix says.

“Why?”

Felix finds themself afraid to answer. They climb because they should. Because they must. Because if they don't there is only down, down, forever down, until they strike the bottom and there's nothing more. 

The demon flaps beside them as they continue to climb, their glossy black wings a stark reminder of the naked ruin on Felix's back. The appendages bleed as they fall away. Felix is flightless. There is only up. So they climb, desperate, ignoring the mocking voice at their side, passing through lifetimes as they reach landings, living the same brutal life over and over with horrible clarity. 

Then they reach the earth.

#

“He is a sullen boy.”

One of Felix's earliest memories is hearing his father describe him this way. 

It's not his earliest memory. His earliest memory is Glenn, big and strong and picking him up to carry him somewhere. He doesn't remember where, just the feel of Glenn holding him, chattering quietly about knights and dragons as he carts Felix around. In hindsight, he knows Glenn must have been a child as well, but in his memory he towers, filling Felix's entire world.

Later, when that world crumbles, they call Felix sullen. They call him sad, moody, a difficult boy. These things crowd in around the memories of Glenn, clawing for space they don't deserve. Even though he has 13 years of memories with Glenn, these new memories fight to push his brother out, fight to make the time after Glenn the only time there's ever been, the only time there ever will be. 

Felix fights. It feels like the only thing he can do. It requires little thought. It leaves his head and mind and heart empty. It douses the fires burning him from within. 

Felix is good at fighting. Excellent. Even better than Glenn had been at his age. His father sends him to fight, perhaps to die. Like a true knight.

He travels with his father's soldiers, marching north. The land grapples upward. Grass turns to stone. The mountains suck all the warmth out of the air, leaving the sky brittle and blue. He climbs, legs burning as he trudges with his father's soldiers up the steep shoulders of the mountains.

They come to a plain, a flat expanse among the rocky gradient of the mountains. Their enemy waits on the other side of a valley. They put armor on Felix, place a sword in his hands, tell him where to stand, assure him the duke's son will be well-protected. 

But it means little when the forces clash, when there's nothing but screams and blood and Felix can't tell the difference between his allies' pleas for mercy and his enemies'.

He swings his sword. He must. This is why he's here, why he's wading in ground made soft and muddy with blood. He kills. People die against his blade. But he almost doesn't notice. There are so many other horrors clamoring for his attention just then. 

Eventually, it is over. He is alive. But the battle has scooped out whatever remained of him, left a hollow husk clattering in overlarge armor and clinging to a bloody blade. Is this how Glenn died? Was it just like this? Except that Glenn lost. Lost like a true knight ought. 

Someone takes him by the shoulder, leads him away. He looks up when they take his hand, but all he sees is light, glinting over the mountains, glaring off the snow, blurring the person guiding him. 

He's not quite coherent when they coax him to sit. Felix looks around. He is in a little glen, an alcove of grass tucked among the rocks. There is a tree. Its shade solidifies the lines and shapes of the person with him. 

They are lovely. 

Sitting in the place where shadow and light meet, they seem almost otherworldly. The sunlight dances in their silver hair. The light frames their back like great, white wings unfurling around them. Their eyes are the soft green of the shadows beneath the tree.

“Go home,” they say.

“I can't,” Felix says.

“You must,” they say.

“Now? Alone?” 

The angel takes him by the shoulders. “They will lose the next battle. If you go with them, you will die.” 

Felix believes them, but asks anyway: “How do I know that's true? Who are you? What are you?”

“I fell here for you,” the angel says. They are smiling, as though realizing the truth of their own words as they speak. They appear to be Felix's age, yet their eyes contain eons, lifetimes. 

“Is it fate?” Felix says. 

“No,” the angel says. “I only want to help.”

“Why?” 

“Because I heard you crying out,” the angel says. “It was you. You called me here.” 

“I don't know if I can make it back to Fraldarius on my own,” Felix says.

“I will go with you,” the angel says. “Until you are safe.” 

“Then what?” 

“Then you will not need me.”

Felix does not understand, but he follows the angel's orders, leaving the battlefield then and there. The angel leads him through the wilderness, helps him find food and shelter and water along his way, sees Felix down the rocky slopes and into the fields and hillsides of Fraldarius. 

When he returns home, his father gapes at him. The rest of his troops are dead, ambushed in the mountains, slaughtered to the last man. Only Felix remains. 

His father, disconcerted, begins writing to the Officers Academy in Garreg Mach, preparing Felix to leave and train so he will not run again.

#

“He is a sullen boy.” Rodrigue carries those words around like a shield the day he delivers Felix to the monastery in Garreg Mach, warning everyone they encounter. Felix grits his teeth through it, grits his teeth even after Rodrigue departs and it's Dimitri and Ingrid and Sylvain jabbing at him instead. They're young and excited and ambitious. And Felix? Felix is sullen. Sad. Moody. Dark.

The four nobles and Dedue are the first to arrive. Naturally. They have the best horses, the best carriages, the most time and leisure for travel. 

Eventually, other students in other houses begin to filter into the Officers Academy. They mingle, not yet separated by houses and alliances. 

Felix sits in a corner-- _sullen_ , he thinks bitterly--and cleans a sword. It doesn't really require cleaning, but the motion is soothing, like fighting. 

The commoner students arrive, many on foot, bags and bundles on their shoulders. And among them, impossibly, is the angel. 

Felix's hand stills on his blade. There's no mistaking the creature across the courtyard. They are older now, less ethereal, but Felix recognizes them nonetheless. His whole body recognizes them, his chest tightening, his hand clutching the rag he'd been holding, his legs forcing him up to stand. 

But it's not an angel gaping at him across the courtyard. It's a boy. An ordinary boy. Nervous and unsure, clutching a book against his chest. 

_I'm going mad,_ he thinks. Angels. More likely just stress and fear, the desperate grappling of a mind broken by the sight of too much death. He'd arrived in Fraldarius alone after that battle years ago, alone and ragged and stuttering. No angel had guided him, except in his mind. 

Even so, today he stands and crosses the courtyard, approaching the angel waiting at the other end, passing through entire lifetimes to land in this place, in this time, staring down at an angel's wide green eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the ending is crazily abrupt. There's a good reason, I swear! It'll become obvious in part 2. 
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!
> 
> Join the [Ashelix discord](https://discord.gg/cjFuCx) to hear my incoherent screeching about my beloved rarepair! (Ask me for link if it's expired!)


	2. The Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe lives a thousand lives, each ending in a different growth. Until a demon visits him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Ashe Week 2020, day 5, prompt "victory/defeat."

Ashe climbs the ladder plummeting to the earth.

Each rung sings. Each rung soothes their hands. But they feel the coolness fading with every step. The light is shaded with gray, a curtain closing in. They feel eyes, but keep descending nonetheless. Their wings stretch, white feathers fluttering upward, more and more torn away with each rung they descend.

They reach a landing.

#

_In this life, they will be a fish. They will nourish the larger fish who eats them._

#

Ashe continues climbing. The light is fragile, like luminescent fog, the earth a distant, hazy shadow. The coolness breezes across their skin, but they forego this comfort. It easy enough to ignore. The force trying to pull them upward plucks the feathers from their wings, leaving the appendages skeletal and delicate.

Ashe climbs because they should, because they must, because the earth calls to them. They have heard it, crying against the light, pleading for them to heed it. But it is a long journey and full of sacrifice. They hear the light warning them, hear it whispering of all they will lose. How easy it would be to simply go back.

They reach a landing.

#

_In this life, they will be a man. They will make tools and share them until someone steals them. They will die destitute._

#

An angel meets them on their descent, drifting down to watch Ashe struggle. The pressure of their majestic, white wings uplifts Ashe.

“What are you doing?” the angel says.

“Climbing,” Ashe says.

“Why?”

Ashe finds themself afraid to answer. They climb because they should. Because they must. Because if they don't there is only stagnation, stillness, unending immutability, until they fade and there's nothing more.

The angel glides beside them as they continue to descend, their glorious white wings a stark reminder of the bony detritus on Ashe's back. The appendages bleed as they shatter. Ashe is flightless. There is only down. So they descend, determined, humming over the urgent voice at their side, observing lifetimes as they reach landings, wondering at the beauty of life over and over. 

Then they reach the earth.

#

“I'm hungry.”

One of Ashe's earliest memories is his siblings complaining of hunger.

It's not his earliest memory. His earliest memory is his parents, cooking for him, brushing his hair, tucking him into blankets at night and singing to him until he falls asleep. They never raise their voices or their hands. If Ashe is rambunctious, if he asks too many questions, gets too close to the stove while they cook, they chide gently, ensuring he doesn't burn his tiny, grasping hands. 

Later, when they are gone, suddenly, horribly, inexplicably gone, there is hunger. Always hunger. His siblings are hungry. Ashe is hungry. And there is little he can do. The hunger presses in on every side, crowding out the memories of story times before bed, of special birthday meals, of kisses on scrapes and bruises to help them heal. Hunger is all there is, all there's ever been, all there ever will be. 

Ashe steals. It feels like the only thing he can do. It's easy. He's small, not worth noticing. His deft little hands fit inside pockets without fuss. 

Ashe is good at stealing. Excellent. Better than he ever wanted to be. Once, he'd dreamed of being a baker, of using his hands to quench others' hunger. Now, he is a thief. 

He slips through the city, sticking to alleyways and side streets, the hidden pathways only urchins like himself know. They are the cloaked arteries of this place, providing vital nourishment to those least nourished. He falls deeper into their shadows, comforted by the dark. 

He slips toward the wealthier side of town, where homes are large and sprawling and full of valuable treasures. Ashe spots the one he'd been searching for, a mansion hugged by an iron gate.

That gate means very little when Ashe climbs it. It's a simple task. He is strong and spry and determined and his tiny hands soon carry him up the gate and over it.

Ashe approaches a door and takes out his lockpick. He must. This is why he's here, why he's sneaking around in the dark. He steals. It's the only way to make the hunger stop. 

Eventually, it is over. He holds a little pouch of jewelry against his chest, patching over the place where guilt and remorse should be. There's no time for that when hunger claws at his belly, claws at his siblings' bellies. 

Someone takes him by the shoulder, drags him away. He startles, struggles, but they pause long enough to press a finger to their lips and shake their head. He squints, trying to make them out, but in the gloom all he can see is darkness, masking the person guiding him. 

He's still stumbling and unsure when they duck into an alley. The alley is shielded from the road, from the sprawling mansion he'd just artlessly looted. There is a streetlight flickering at the far end of the alley. It traces the person with him in red. 

They are striking.

Outlined by flame, they seem almost otherworldly. Inky darkness deepens the blue-black of their hair. Shadows splash the wall behind them like thick, black wings bursting from their back. Their eyes are the warm amber of candlelight. 

“Go to that house,” they say, and point at one of the mansions.

“I can't,” Ashe says. “It's too well-guarded.”

“You must,” they say.

“Now? Like this?”

The demon takes him by the shoulders. “If you do not steal from that house, you will die. Your siblings will die.”

Ashe believes them, but asks anyway: “How do I know that's true? Who are you? What are you?”

“I climbed here for you,” the demon says. They are weighing the veracity of their own words as they speak. They appear to be Ashe's age, yet their eyes contain weariness, age upon age of exhaustion.

“Is it providence?” Ashe says. 

“No,” the demon says. “I just want to make this right.” 

“Why?”

“Because I heard you calling for help,” the demon says. “It was you. You asked me to come here.”

“I don't know if I can get into that mansion,” Ashe says. 

“I will go with you,” the demon says. “Until you are inside.” 

“Then what?”

“Then you will be safe.” 

Ashe does not understand, but he obeys the demon's command, creeping toward the mansion they'd indicated. The gate is tougher to climb, but the demon helps him over. The windows and doors are shut up tight, but the demon shows Ashe the weakest ones and eventually a lock givesway and Ashe slips inside.

Ashe hardly notices when the demon leaves him. He gawks at the library he's stolen into, running his hands over the covers of the books until he is finally caught. 

Lord Lonato assures Ashe he will never feel hungry again.

#

Ashe arrives at the Officers Academy on foot. It is a long, tiring journey, but he'd insisted on not wasting Lonato's money with a horse. Lonato has already done so much for Ashe and his siblings, rescuing them from poverty, giving them food, books, a home, and now, an education and training few experience. Even as Ashe passes through the town of Garreg Mach and approaches the monastery itself, he feels unworthy of all this stone and steel and money and prestige. He will be a thief among nobles, a beggar beside literal royalty.

Ashe shrinks at the thought, feeling small among towering stone spires and looming edifices. He holds a book against his chest, the book Lonato caught him stealing that night many years ago, _Loog and the Maiden of Wind._ A book about a brave knight. He presses it against his heart, clinging to it for reassurance. 

When his eyes lower from the dizzying heights, his breath catches in his throat.

There's no mistaking the creature across the courtyard. They are older now, less otherworldly, but Ashe recognizes them nonetheless. His whole body recognizes them, his heart skittering, his blood going cold, his knees locking beneath him. 

The demon strides across the courtyard, walking right up to Ashe, sword in hand. 

“What are you doing here?” the demon says. 

“You ... you are...” Ashe says. 

“Why are you here?” the demon says again, but there's something wrong about their voice, something far too human. What he sees is not a demon but a boy, a boy about his age, a boy who is confused and uncertain just like him. 

“You aren't ... you aren't them,” Ashe says. “Who are you?”

“Felix.”

“But you know me.”

“You know me,” Felix retorts. 

“Not yet,” Ashe says. “Not really. I'm Ashe.”

Ashe puts his hand up between them. Felix stares at it a moment as though waiting for something. He has to sheathe his sword and tuck a cleaning rag into his belt to free his hands and shake Ashe's. 

“Nice to meet you,” Ashe says. “I think.” 

Felix smiles at little at this. Ashe feels it is a rare gesture, a flicker few see. He stores it away to remember later. 

“Perhaps,” Felix says. 

There is so much more to say, so much more to ask, but they don't have time as professors bundle up their students, ushering them to classrooms, directing them through the dining hall and training room and dorm rooms, loading their arms with books and assignments for their first day of classes tomorrow. 

Ashe doesn't speak to Felix again, not that day. But when he lays down to sleep in this strange, looming place, he feels like he can sense Felix through the stone above his head, like the missing half of a locket, waiting all this time for its match, guided here by inevitability. 

Some day, perhaps, he will ask Felix about the demon who visited him as a child, the demon who saved his life. Some day, he will tell Felix about his dreams of climbing downward through the light, always downward, always through blinding white. Some day, he will ask Felix if his dreams are the same, a strange compliment to Ashe's own. 

But perhaps those are questions for another lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I attempted to make these two chapters feel like puzzle pieces, almost. They fill in each other missing details and are only truly complete when read together. 
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!
> 
> Join the [Ashelix discord](https://discord.gg/cjFuCx) to hear my incoherent screeching about my beloved rarepair! (Ask me for link if it's expired!)


End file.
